


Leaving Just Your Corpse Behind

by universe



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Porn Battle, Sexual Fantasy, airlock, airlock sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-29
Updated: 2009-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universe/pseuds/universe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Oh, the airlock...</i> She misses that part, too, more than she cares to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Just Your Corpse Behind

**Author's Note:**

> For the BSG Pornbattle at livejournal, for the prompts _fingers_, _airlock_, _take me_ and _we can't do this here_.

It's the third week after the election and Laura Roslin is bored out of her mind. _I can't believe I actually miss all the paperwork_, she thinks as she stops pacing in her guest quarters aboard Galactica and sits down on her bed. But it's not just the paperwork she longs to get back. She confesses to herself that she misses the little perks that come with being the President, she misses the _power_. She went from being the Secretary of Education (forty-third in line, _I know all forty-two ahead of me_) to being the most powerful woman in the fleet, her own personal airlock and all. Oh, the airlock... She misses that part, too, more than she cares to admit. And Bill... As always recently, her mind turns to Bill. He visited her earlier, asked her how she was, but she had not been able to reply (which was answer enough all on its own). He promised to step by again tomorrow, after his shift, because he knows how lonely she is now. The President had not had time for friends, and Laura has to bear the consequences. The only people she has left now are Tory and Bill, and not even for long, only until she moves down to the surface (she knows she will, eventually). Another thing she will miss, spending time with her favourite Admiral. She giggles at the thought, her imagination turning memories of innocent and often boring meetings to moments of need and lust and passion.

This is one thing she rejoices in, now more than ever, her active imagination. With a glance to her clock to make sure it's too late for visitors, she slips between her bed sheets and closes her eyes, letting her vivid fantasy life take over.

_She looks around, wonders where she is, until she recognises her surroundings. A deserted airlock. _Huh_, her fantasy self huffs, even this part of her mind seems to be occupied with the end of her presidency. But then she hears a hatch spin shut behind her, and turns around to find Bill standing there, only a few feet away from her. She takes a deep breath as he approaches,_ and Laura's fingers trace the soft skin between her thighs.

_"What are you doing here?", he asks, but doesn't, because he can see the desire in her eyes already, and he does not waste any time (not anymore, never again), but pulls her body to his, his hands on her back, in her hair, under her skirt. Their lips are almost touching, but he pulls away and lowers his head to her throat instead, distracting her enough to push her up against the wall._

"We can't do this here", she tries to argue in between gasps and whimpers, until she realises that this is her fantasy, and that they, indeed, can_. She runs her fingers up and down his back while his mouth drops lower, into the valley between her breasts, and if this were real, she would wonder how he managed to undo the buttons of her blouse when his hands were busy roaming others parts of her body. He knows just where to touch and lick and nip to have her writhing under him, and she should be concerned about the dampness between her legs and the creases in her clothes, but her thoughts are reduced to _oh_ and _yes_ and _right there_ when he slides her panties down her legs and moves his fingers _exactly_ where she wants them._

"Oh Bill!" Laura's hands are hardly idle, two digits buried deep inside her.

_It's good, _so_, so very good, but it's not enough yet, she wants more, all of him, and he obliges, even though she has not even said a word. When he slips out, she moans in protest, but she hears his zipper open and his pants drop to the floor, and she finally gives voice to her wants and needs._

"Take me."

His breathing is nothing more than rasp, and the knowledge that he desires her as much as she does him only heightens her arousal. He lifts her a few inches and pushes her into the bulkhead, and she is glad that this is a fantasy, because she has no idea how she would cover the bruises if it was real. He enters her slowly (agonisingly so), and draws a delighted moan from both of them, while Laura's fingers start moving in earnest now, desperate for release.

_It's fast and raw and loud, and she feels Bill getting close to the edge. She sneaks one of her hands down to where they are joined, the other one clinging to his shoulder, and _with a few flicks of her thumb, she breaks, waves and waves of hot white pleasure coursing through her body.

She takes a shaky breath, feels her muscles contract and relax, a thin layer of sweat coating her skin. She should get up, should take a shower, but she can't be bothered, not when she can still _feel_ him, smell him, taste him, and she falls asleep to the memory of his face when he came inside her.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a companion piece to this here: [The Devil's Water, It Ain't So Sweet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/99209).


End file.
